


The Happy Homemaker Affair

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how far you run or how hard you try to hide, there's no getting away from housework...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Happy Homemaker Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hey_judy10](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hey_judy10).



Illya hefted the basket of dirty clothes up onto the sorting table with a grunt.  Since they had started living together, Illya preferred to do their laundry as opposed to sending it out.  Well, that wasn’t exactly true… they still sent their suits out, but everything else Illya took care of.  It was safer and avoided unnecessary scrutiny.

The truth be known, Illya didn’t mind doing laundry.  His current surroundings certainly beat the times he’d spent pulling laundry detail for his fellow troops back home.  At least here he had warm water and didn’t have to be bundled in five sweaters to keep from freezing.    And the laundry was one of the warmer spots in camp.

Illya smiled at the memory.  How far he’d come since those days.  From a two-man tent in Siberia to a penthouse in Manhattan, it was all fine with him.  Others might say it was making him soft, but he invited them to spend some time with him in the gym.  He’d quickly change their minds.

Dumping out the clothes, Illya took a deep breath and grabbed the top article.  It was a sock stained brown with mud.

“Hmm, soak, but it can wait.”  Illya started a pile.  The next one was a tee shirt, stained with grass and a black material, tar or asphalt, possibly.  “Eh, treat now.”  Another pile.  Next he held up a white shirt and, frowning, poked his finger first through one bullet hole and then another.  Napoleon had apparently used it to muffle the sound of his Special being fired. Gunpowder colored the areas around the holes deep gray.   It was beyond repair.   “Casualty - gone.”  He dropped it on to the floor and moved on.

“Blood, too late.”

“Mystery stain - treat.”

“Goner.”

“Oil, gun powder, and wine, Napoleon, what were you up to?  Your laundry celebrates harder than I do.”

He kept going until he was surrounded by four piles.  Now came the hard part, the actual washing.

Napoleon walked in, carrying two bags of groceries.  “Illya?  You here?”

“Laundry room,” Illya shouted back.  While he hated spending one of their few free days doing housework, it wouldn’t get done itself.  So he took laundry and Napoleon went grocery shopping.

Napoleon appeared around the door jam, a grin on his face.  He nodded to the piles.  “Laundry?”

“More like triage.  What the hell did you roll in?  I’ve got at least seven pieces of clothes with the same stains.”

Napoleon gingerly plucked one of the aforementioned and sniffed carefully.  He made a face and offered it back.  “Wine, merlot or cab, not sure which.”

“Really?  I would have thought you could tell.”

 Napoleon watched Illya drop it back on the pile.

“And this…”  Illya held up a shirt with a smear of red on the collar.  “Would you like to explain this lipstick to me?”

Napoleon took the garment and studied it.  “Sure, but this is your shirt, _amigo,_ not mine.”

“What?”  Illya snatched it back and studied it.  He smiled hesitantly at his partner and reached for a laundry brush and some soap.

“Still want that explanation?”

“It must have been April.”

“Uh, huh, it had better be.  I got a roast for dinner and they had those cookies you like on sale.  The ones with the frosting and sprinkles.”  Do you have any requests?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be safe or sanitary at the moment, so I shall remain silent on the subject.  Did you get the toilet bowl cleaner?”

“And toothpaste, dish soap, and I even had a coupon for a dollar off...”  Napoleon trailed off.  “Will you listen to us?”

“What?”  Illya measured detergent and bleach into the washer, dropped the lid, and started it.

“Us.  Illya, what’s the fastest way to render an enemy unconscious?”

“Is sound an issue?  If it is, I’d go for a sleeper bullet, unless there are interested parties listening, then a garrote would be my choice.”  Lifting the lid to stop the water, Illya began to toss shirts in.  “What brought that up?”

“We are capable, highly-trained agents and we are standing here talking about grass stains and frosted cookies with sprinkles.”  Napoleon watched Illya close the machine lid again and wipe his hands on a towel.

“Ah, but we are only agents when we are at work or on assignment.  Now we are merely two people doing what needs to be done.  I actually find it a refreshing change from having people shoot at me.”  Illya plopped down on the sofa and waited for Napoleon to join him.

After a brief internal struggle as to whether he should put groceries away or enjoy his partner’s company, Napoleon settled down beside Illya.  It always amazed him at how well they fit together.  Sitting with his arm draped over Illya’s shoulders felt so normal and comfortable.  “Well, if pressed, I would agree that this is nicer than being dragged behind a car.”

“Is that what happened to that shirt?”

“After a fashion… there were a few other incidents beforehand.”  Napoleon’s thumb stroked Illya’s cheek gently.  “Do you ever wonder if we’ll get out of this alive?”

“Work, life, or our relationship?”

“Work, of course.”  Napoleon hugged Illya one handed.  “I never want out of our relationship and life, well, no one gets out of it alive.”

“Some religious groups would argue that point.”  Illya reached up to squeeze Napoleon’s hand.  “And don’t even get me started on this.”

“Some religious groups would argue any point.”  Napoleon kissed Illya’s head and sighed.  “If this is going to make me burn in Hell, then it’s so worth it.”

Illya shifted slightly and gave him a sly smile.  “Want to go for double or nothing?”

Dinner was very late that night and the laundry never did get finished until the next day.


End file.
